I should have started
this long ago (a year and seven months ago to be precise) but sometimes it’s
difficult at the time, it’s your life and it’s impossible to reflect as it’s
unfolding around you but every time I return to my hospital bed I revisit these
thoughts and it seems like now is the perfect time to start from the beginning.
…
The eleventh day, of
the eleventh month, of the eleventh year….the eerie prominence of this date did
not resonate until later.
This Friday was, by
all accounts, a seemingly usual November afternoon. I finished work at the
school in my sleepy town in usual time and met my closest and most admired
colleague, my sister. Standard Friday practice was a fitness class after hours
and then home…. but today, just today, we thought we’d leave a little early.
After all we had a poppy party to arrange. It was Remembrance Day (ironic, as I
doubt this day will ever be forgotten) and what better way to raise money for
all those wounded soldiers than a poppy party? …Perhaps, but little did we know
what a fateful decision that would turn out to be.
We left the building
and began our usual route home before taking the subconscious decision to cross
the road at an uncharacteristically early point due to a shiny new zebra
crossing that had been opened that very day. Strangely a lady from work drew up
aside us in her car and offered us a lift. Strange… because she knew we were
only making a short trip, the same walk home we made every day; needless to say
we declined her kind offer, no worry, it wasn’t far….but yet another fateful
decision. However the momentary delay she attributed to our journey was no
doubt crucial….luck? Sometimes I think there was some greater intervention that
day, nothing religious or whatever, I’m not into that, but perhaps the energy
of my grandma. If anyone had energy enough to transcend the barrier of mortality
it was her.
None the wiser we preceded
down the pavement, I on the inside, my sister on the out, chatting and minding
our own business. I’d just found out I hadn’t made the cut for some job, we
thought this was relatively bad news….little did we know how insignificant this
was about to become, nothing like a touch of perspective to put things into
focus.
The first thing that
snatched my attention was the snarling of the revving engine, the sound of a
car racing to shake a start line. We looked up. “Boom-dumf” the car mounted the
pavement, glanced the shop wall just metres ahead with an almighty blow and set
to, on a course straight down the pavement….straight at us.
I sometimes wonder if
in that split second, the moment I had heard that engine, had I thrown us both
into the road, things might have been different but I know, truthfully, we did
not have a chance. In a matter of seconds it was done, not even enough time for
the cogs in my head to click.
I heard my sister’s
voice “STOPPP!” full of indignation as she slammed her hands on the bonnet and
was flung out the way, after all what the hell was a car doing on “our” pedestrian
pavement! I turned to run but I was no match for an accelerating machine,
barely one step was trod before a massive double impact that lands me way down
the pavement on the floor. So rapid was the transition I would of believed you
if you’d told me I’d jumped through time and in some ways I suppose I did…from
one reality to another.
My body, or perhaps
it was my head, took a moment for the pain to catch up with it, a blessing, as
any seconds fewer to endure that hell I am thankful for….adrenaline is a wonderful
thing. I went to lift my leg, get up even, and my world came crashing down.
Shock, pain, sheer horror engulfed me. Words and sounds passed my lips that
were wild and altered…and my sister was there. Thank God she was there. As I
asked someone to kill me she was there. There to save my life. Who thinks to
grab a passer-by’s belt and tourniquet a loved one’s limb when they are
bleeding to death? Not me, I am sure of that. She was incredible.
Minutes felt like
hours (that age-old cliché). It seemed to grow dark and rain began to fall. A
siren? Relief, even an element of relaxation, the people who could save me had
arrived, the best hands, nothing more could be done….but no….just a first
responder….a fantastic first responder but a lady with limited resources. She
cuts my coat to the elbow, my favourite coat and the first of many needles….I
am distraught, my one true and total fear. I feign protest but I know it is in
vain (excuse the pun).
Little good do those
horrid needles do….a tease….we wait (not so quietly)….my sister’s face in mine,
keeping my eyes from the devastation. Where was my foot? Why does it still
scream at me when it is not even a part of me anymore? Phantom limb perhaps,
I’ve heard of that.
Sister keeps talking,
I can see her face but I’m not really taking in the words. I am talking pure
jibber. I hear the noise my body expels when she applies the
tourniquet…animalistic…gritty…I can still hear it now.
I am fighting,
fighting, fighting then fading, slipping, drifting, tugging at the thin veil of
eternal sleep….until wait… a siren! I dig in, cling on, like nails to a cliff
edge.
“I’m not going to
make it am I?” I breathe. “You better bloody well” is the response, I tell her
who I love.
The paramedics are
here now. We need to go. We are flung around the ambulance and no amount of
morphine is ever enough, “…it’s not doing a bloody thing!” I hear the radios,
hear them constantly relaying how long the tourniquet has been in place, how
long my mangled limb has been devoid of circulation, how much will I lose?
Roundabout after roundabout, I never knew there were so many! And then we’re by
the fire station, not far now, just up the road. BAM! The doors fling open. We
stream into A and E and the locusts descend. Someone is talking to me, all calm
and rational. I am trying to protest through clenched teeth, masks and tubes at
the complete violation of my body. Clothes stripped from me. I fought for my
knickers. Massive needles and cannulas rammed in every part, the femoral
artery was the worst, I still have the scar. Photos being taken. I was but an ether
existing on the barest thread. Just put me under, why won’t they put me under?
It’s simple isn’t it? No…we need to go to Taunton…45 minute trip…we don’t have
the expertise here for your emergency op, air ambulance is out of area it’s
going to have to be another regular road ambulance.
Where is my Mum? We
are waiting; she has been wrongly informed I have a broken leg. Well…rightly to
a degree, but a regular broken leg means there’s plenty of time to pack a bag,
stop for the toilet, roll a cigarette. She arrives. They bundle her in and go.
Now we are reaching the morphine levels I am looking for, I am quiet, life
flickering within, buffeted by the howling winds about me.
Taunton, Musgrove
Park and I am under. I awake to a lattice of metal work and a greeting from my
toes…where did they come from?! I am overjoyed; I can barely compute what lies
before me. “Thank you thank you” I gush to the scrubs quietly going about their
business, “…you saved my leg!” A sideways glance passes between them; one
plucks up the courage to shake his head. I am confused, bewildered. “Just rest
a minute, your family will be here soon”.
Tears flood down my
face, body groaning with the deepest sorrow as the kind, kind nurse (Claire?)
holds my hand and allows me to absorb the news…amputation…it’s the strongest
possibility and I need to face the facts. Family are outside chattering to
consultants in dulcet tones, my dad has arrived. Time is but a word to me, I
don’t know which way is up but it seems like constant night, dark… like my
world. An old lady is spluttering behind drawn curtains. How, why had this
happened? Was someone trying to kill me? I still don’t understand. I felt
targeted like Martine McCutchin’s character Tiffany in Eastenders where she was
mown down and murdered in the square however the scenes that followed were more
like that of Saving Private Ryan. It felt like a TV drama…a film…but no, this
was real, the real fucking deal. This was my life and what a shocking turn of
events. How does a car hit you on the pavement? If I was crossing the road
maybe I could make more sense of it but on the pavement…on the INSIDE of the
pavement….that’s a safe place isn’t it??? My cloak of invincibility is whipped
from me and I am laid bare, exposed to the realisation that nowhere is “safe”,
safe is but a fallacy.
Claire, Claire….I
remember her, she held my hand and stroked my hair but even then through the
tears and devastation I told her I would walk back in there, “…just you watch!”
I don’t know where that came from, I never knew I was like that, never knew I
had that in me or the ability to hide my tears from my family. They were
suffering enough. Perhaps it was the cocktail of drugs. Right there, right
then, my hand in Claire’s was rock bottom…I hope you never have to visit.
Frenchay tomorrow
morning I am told, if they don’t find you a bed we are taking you anyway, once
we drop you in A and E they have to make room, you need this. Never the less
they found me a bed.
I don’t realise it is
a new day, I can’t even work out where in the room I am but I am somewhere
different. Lots of people hover round me, curtains drawn and there are shadows,
lots of shadows.
And this is how it
began.